


Suburbcore

by beforethesungoesdown



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Current!Frank, Current!Gerard, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Burn, but for feelings, idk just two middle aged men falling in love, oh my god they were neighbors
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-13 02:08:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29394573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beforethesungoesdown/pseuds/beforethesungoesdown
Summary: The thing about living in the suburbs is that every cliché about them is true.
Relationships: Frank Iero/Gerard Way
Comments: 18
Kudos: 39





	1. Grass

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kitoko_kun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitoko_kun/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I have two WIPs but, yeah, I just think we need more current!Frerard lol. 
> 
> Thanks to Kitoko for acting as a double agent: beta and cheerleader. And for your infinite patience :*

The thing about living in the suburbs is that every cliché about them is true. And Gerard thought quite a lot about how accurate those deceptions were five years ago when he decided to move to a nicer, fancier neighbor when he was able to afford the house he always wanted. Big windows, a nice patio, and three bedrooms. Which one of them would become his dream studio. The best part? He would be finally able to spill all the paint he wanted, have how many plants he liked, and adopt as many stray cats as he wished because it was going to be his fucking house. 

As soon as he moved, he had a lot of dirty looks when his new neighbors discovered that, not only was he an artist that wore destroyed hoodies on purpose, but that he was still a bachelor in his early forties. But Gerard didn’t mind because most of his neighbors were friendly and expressed (quite often) his pity by giving him a Harry & David gift basket every Christmas, New Year, and birthday. Gerard found the situation cute but corny. Really corny. Especially because it was orchestrated by some of the whitest, ageless, and perfect housewives in the neighborhood. The self-named ‘Neighbor Committee’. The similarities with fiction were too goddamn eerie to make Gerard burst into laughter when he ate an overpriced pear, completely zooted. He was living in a soap opera. And even though he wasn’t the protagonist for obvious reasons, he was the beloved tertiary character. The eccentric boho gay neighbor who always smiled at the protagonists but never had more than two lines in the whole series. The quirky character that only hardcore fans of the series would appreciate and even use as witty and obscure costume for Halloween. 

Gerard knew he was in a quite odd but privileged position to be on this show named ‘his life as a middle-aged man’. And despite that he often managed to find comedy comparing the similar aspects between the daily gossip around the neighborhood and the plot of whatever soap opera he was watching at the moment, Gerard didn’t let himself be that cynical about it because he knew those kinds of families were the ones that paid his bills. No matter how much Gerard wanted to deny it for the sake of defending his craftsmanship, he KNEW that every single time he sold a custom painting it would end in a living room of a richer, nicer (and definitely more pretentious too) version of his own neighbors. Gerard sort of hated to be aware of this painful truth. The truth that white rich people seemed to think primary colors and random black strokes in a huge canvas were THE way to decorate a house. But who could have blamed him? He just happened to find this brilliant business path. In a way, he was also the art director of this soap opera. Not bad for a tertiary character, really. 

But like every cliché, there was a certain someone. Or ‘someones’ that caught the neighbors attention. More specifically, Gerard’s attention. Ok, right, he was the tertiary character but he needed his moment too. You know why? Because this cliché were his next-door neighbors: the Ieros. Frank and Jamia, a quiet couple who moved about a year ago. 

Frank was this guy who looked like he was about to join the middle-aged gang but was covered in tattoos and wore novelty t-shirts on the weekends. Was he trying too hard? Gerard wasn’t sure. Did he look hot? Fuck yes. And Jamia was what Gerard thought a hardworking lawyer should look like in a legal drama about badass women who didn’t receive the recognition nor the payment they deserved in their law firm: always on the phone and carrying around her travel coffee mug. 

Since the first day the Ieros moved to the neighborhood, Gerard tried really hard to categorize them into his little show, but they didn’t fit in any trope. At least not in the soap opera ones. And that was killing him. He loved to watch and draw his own conclusions but the Ieros were such workaholics and loners that it was almost impossible to make them attend some of the classic quarterly events the neighborhood committee organized. And that added an extra layer of mysteriousness at the eyes of the rest of the neighborhood. They were “the weird ones'' but for different reasons he expected. Gerard thought that either Frank’s tattoos or Jamia’s constant work trips would be the latest gossip but Samantha, the yoga instructor, once told Gerard that the thing that bothered the committee was that they barely attended the BBQs. The treason wasn’t them not being the picture-perfect family, but them not making an effort to mingle with the picture-perfect families. 

And apparently, there would be even more reasons to talk about the Ieros. 

Gerard was watering his lawn and smoking his first cigarette of the day when a truck stopped right in front of the Iero's household. Gerard lingered a little to hear what the fuck was going on and hoped that his recently transplanted camellias would endure the extra tending. Then, Frank and Jamia got out of the house with some boxes. Were they moving again? Gerard couldn’t feel anything but disappointment because that meant not only that he couldn't manage to make friends with them but the fact that an empty house opened the possibility of a new family coming to the neighborhood. And maybe they wouldn't be this shy, goth couple but a big family who loved to mow the grass at 7 AM sharp every Sunday. Gerard sighed, sort of overwhelmed with all the possibilities but then he raised an eyebrow when he saw Frank and Jamia hugging like two best friends saying goodbye. Everything made sense when Jamia took her car and left, being followed by the truck, leaving Frank smoking alone next to the mailbox. Holy fuck, were they divorcing? She leaves him? IN PUBLIC? The gossi-- the neighborhood committee was about to lose their shit. 

***

According to the family counselor, his last shrink and the numerous clickbaity articles he read, Frank learned that one of the hardest things about getting divorced is the sudden change of routine. And he had a pretty structured one that included Jamia waking up 5 minutes before their alarm to jump to the shower and him making her coffee in the meantime, so she wouldn't spend $4 in those yucky vending machine ones. Then, a goodbye kiss and a “have a great one”. And after seeing her car turning around the corner, Frank would lock himself in his studio to work and completely lose track of time. At least, until he realized it was about time for Jamia to get home so he would order some food to dine with her while catching up on whatever series they were obsessed with at the moment. 

Coming with terms that he had to say goodbye to that routine was harsh. 

The guys that he considered his friends, the bunch of hypermasculine dudes with whom he watched soccer, told him that getting divorced was pretty great actually. They also told Frank about the wonders of being ‘finally free’. And despite Frank never feeling suffocated by Jamia, he tried to trust them. Yeah, maybe now he could leave the clothes on the floor or shower a few extra minutes, get a dog or fuck around with new people. But nothing sounded as exciting as his friends tried to tell him. 

After hearing all his friend’s divorcing stories, Frank felt glad that he got to end on good terms with Jamia. They were best friends since forever and when they both had to part away, it was an easy-going process, gentle process. Together, they sorted off all details that made every divorce a pain in the ass: Who was going to get what, when was Jamia going to move out of the house, and what the fuck they were going to say to their family and friends. They knew it wasn’t an easy conversation because for some reason it was easier to say someone cheated or that they simply hated each other rather than explain that it was a common agreement. Somehow, it was harder to believe that it wasn’t an explosive ending, but a calm one that included Frank helping Jamia moving her boxes and wishing her a good day, and watching her turn around the corner for the last time. 

The day flew by and Frank realized he lost the track of time again when his stomach grumbled. As a habit, he went to the kitchen and put two frozen patties in the oven. The timer was about to sound off when he realized his mistake but whatever, he was hungry anyway, so he took both, a beer and went to eat on his patio. The afternoon was still warm and the neighborhood was quiet, as usual. He relished the silence, making a mental note to spend more time eating outside. He needed to seize the moments in his big house before his now bachelor budget was unable to pay the rent and make him move to somewhere else. But Frank tried to leave that concern for another time, and focus on the warm breeze, his favorite beer and the smell that was invading his nose. 

Weed. 

Frank stood up, still holding his beer, and tried to find out where that smell came from. It was the first time that he smelled something apart from Air Wick’s ‘morning rose’. Carefully, he peeped out Don’s wall but he only saw the greenish water in the pool and that sad inflatable castle his kids stopped using months ago. Then he looked out at Gerard's side and everything was so obvious suddenly. Ugh, why didn’t he think that before? Of course the hippy forty-year-old neighbor was the type of guy who got stoned and watched squirrels and birdies to unwind on a Thursday. Frank stared like a creep for a solid minute and Gerard was completely still. If it wasn’t that he sniffed from time to time, Frank would’ve thought he dropped dead in an unusual position like those TV shows he used to watch with Jamia where the forensics talked about how it took months even YEARS for bodies to be discovered if the person was single or a loner. Or both. Frank shook his head, trying to cut off that morbid train of thoughts and then he came up with an idea. What if he made friends with Gerard? Cons: Embarrassing if he said no. Pros: Weed, a new friend and narrowing the possibilities of his dead body starring one of those shows. 

Meanwhile he decided what kind of beer he was going to use as an offering, Frank tried to think about some conversation topics. The problem is that he really didn’t know Gerard. They talked maybe two times tops. One of them being that time some mail meant for him was delivered to his house. Frank was kinda nervous… But, was even going to be necessary to practice his small talk if Gerard invited him to smoke a joint? Nah, weed is the universal language, man. 

With four craft beers and a bag of spicy honey chips in hand, Frank buzzed Gerard’s door. When he opened, Frank kind of regretted this whole scheme when he saw Gerard staring at him like a deer about to be struck. But instead of being scared, he was just really high. 

“Don’t you think it is crazy that we are neighbors for so long but we don’t really know each other? So, yeah right, today I thought why don’t go and say hello to Gerard?” Frank didn’t expect to say all that, maybe a simple ‘hi, wanna hang out?’ would have been enough but he felt like he needed to give a good explanation to not feel so guilty after going to his neighbor for a chance to get some grass. “I’m Frank Iero, by the way”

“I know” Gerard smiled when he saw the chips and beers. “Are those the honey spicy ones?”

“Yeah” Ah yes, always bring food when visiting a stoner. It never fails.

Gerard’s home surprised Frank. As Gerard being an artist he expected to have a living room filled with weird sculptures and abstract paintings, and no electronic stuff around. But instead, it was a mixture of modern art, witchy stuff, and vintage comics. A gorgeous green leather sofa, a handmade colorful wool carpet, a bunch of rocks and crystals, and a Star Wars print that seemed to be a movie poster from the 80s. It looked like Gerard threw every little stuff he liked and accumulated during the years. And it looked good. Quirky but cool. It had personality. It was a slap in the face but in a good way and Frank wanted to say something about it, he wasn’t sure exactly what. He wanted to ask about those crystals hanging around, to pull the cotton threads in the funky pillowcase, and to browse around the huge book stands Gerard had. He saw Gerard looking at him like he knew his house was a sensorial overboard.

“I hope you don’t mind if we are outside,” Gerard said, sitting in one of the deck chairs, offering Frank the one next to him. “I just like to smell wet grass and dirt after sniffing acrylics for the entire day. It’s a nice break” Frank opened one of the beers and offered it to Gerard but he declined.

“So you are a painter,” Frank asked, following Gerard’s hands reaching out a rolling tray with a design of stars, like a tarot card. It seemed like witchy themed stuff was Gerard’s favorite. Frank pondered if he was somewhat spiritual or was just for the sake of aesthetics “What kind of stuff do you paint?”

“Mostly abstract, but the boring one. Primary colors and some random shapes. It looks good in almost every living room.” 

"I don't see anything like that in here," Frank said. It was an honest question. Nothing about Gerard's house seemed remotely boring. 

"Oh yeah, that's because I actually have a personality." Gerard smirked. 

Frank laughed, surprised by Gerard’s weird sense of humor. “Aren’t you too cynical to be an artist?” 

“C’mon, all artists become cynical after a while.” After Gerard finished rolling the blunt, he passed it to Frank to do the honors. Frank didn’t hesitate to light it up, trying really hard to not cough. But it had been so long since the last time he smoked weed. The last time was about three years ago when one of Jamia’s friends bought the shittiest thing ever. It was too dry, with lots of steems, and didn’t do shit. But this one was different. Nice, pricey dispensary weed, probably harvested from sunny California. The taste lingered in his mouth. “I’m a comic artist.” 

“Like, you draw ‘em?”

“And write them, too.” 

“That’s rad.” 

“Oh, that’s new.” 

“Uh?”

Gerard snickered again. “You are literally the first person I’ve heard who refers to comic artists as ‘rad’”

And yes, it definitely was the good stuff because that’s when it started to hit Frank, making his limbs feel warm and his face heavy, but that didn’t stop him to open his eyes wide open before speaking again. “Wait, are you famous? Are you friends with Ellis or Morrisson?” 

“Sort of. I mean, I only know them but I’m still trying to break into the scene. I’m not like a huge figure. Not yet.” 

“You ‘only’ know them? Holy shit, you make it sound like it’s not a big deal!” Frank leaned back and closed his eyes, still not believing how cool Gerard was. He kinda blamed himself for misjudging him as the stereotypical hippie artist rather than a geeky artist who happened to look like a stereotypical hippie. 

“You don’t seem like the type who is into comics.” when Frank opened his eyes, he caught Gerard smirking at him. “What do you do? Something with music?”

“I’m a sound mixer. I still play but not in clubs anymore.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard some guitars from time to time. Also, the tattoos. You weren’t a boring lawyer, obviously.”

“Well actually, my wife is a lawyer. I mean-- ex-wife. We got divorced like this morning. You know, the big truck outside my house that screamed ‘JUST DIVORCED’?” Frank knew he didn’t need to be so self-deprecating about his current situation to Gerard but, what the heck, venting was one of the least harmful ways he had to cope with the heavy stuff. And since Jamia wasn’t around anymore--

“Oh right, I didn’t mean to be noisy but... it just happens I was watering the plants so...” Gerard said mindlessly. “Uhm, so, how are you doing?” He added after a long silence.

“I’m not really sad right now. My therapist said that, for men, sadness after divorce comes later. At first, you are supposed to feel free and lively and ready to fuck whoever gets in your way but I don’t really feel like that either. I’m just… here, you know?”

“Uh, I guess. It must be weird.” 

“Yeah, I mean, it seriously makes you reconsider things. 

“Like what?” Ok, maybe Gerard was a divorcee too because he seemed like he really wanted to talk about it. Maybe he was going through a rough patch too? Maybe he was married before he and Jamia moved here? 

“Like… I dunno. Some fucked up shit.” Frank hesitated. But fuck, he wanted to talk, he needed to talk and Gerard happened to -maybe- want to listen. “I can’t help but think about how different things would have been if we said ‘hey, maybe we are just friends’ before and not wait, like, twelve fucking years.”

“Twelve years?”

“I know. And I know it sounds crazy because I wasted a lot of-- Agh, not ‘waisting’, but-- Fuck, and now I’m looking like a total douche. She was really fucking cool and I’m--.”

“No, that’s ok. I can’t say I get what you're saying because I’ve never been in that situation but, I get it. I’ve seen stuff like that on TV shows and yeah. A man getting divorced, that’s a big deal.”

“Wow, I didn’t realize I’m a stereotype of a suburban divorced man in his early forties. That’s just rad. Really good for my self-esteem.” 

“C’mon. You know I didn’t mean that” but Frank was already spiraling. What if he never gets over being single again? He wanted to spill his guts all over again but Gerard spoke again “Maybe you need some time to recenter.”

“No offense but isn’t that too easy for you to say?” 

“What do you mean?”

Frank lowered his voice, realizing how dumb he sounded. Wow, he was such a lightweight now. Weed and a little bit of alcohol and he went on a non-stop rant. “I mean, you are like this cool bohemian artsy cool little dude, and yes, I said ‘cool’ two times because, yeah, you are here in this fucking dreamy perfect neighborhood and don’t give a fuck about anybody here, you just vibe and have your comics and your acrylics and your quality Bubble Kush, and your cool house and job and, fuck man, now I’m just realizing my whole house is gray, and it’s making me feel like I’m trapped in this huge concrete cage. Alone. Making me question why I’m so uncomfortable with my own thoughts and this new fucking ‘label’ I have adopted fucking today. The divorced man, like, fuck. The one who comes here and starts venting on whoever is able to listen because I’m still not sure if I’m doing the right thing.”

“Fuck, man.”

“I know.”

They stayed silent for a moment long enough to make Frank notice that his whole body was completely tense, especially his hands. He tried to loosen up by opening and closing them in a way that made Gerard look, his stare feeling heavy in his hands. 

“Do you think I should buy one of those crystals to, I don’t know, refresh or recharge the energies?” 

When Gerard laughed, Frank relaxed his body again. He might sound like a sour freshly-divorced man but at least he made someone laugh with his predicaments. 

“Doing the same figures week after week can become really tiring sometimes. You start seeing a pattern on almost everything and freaks you out” Gerard took another drag “At first I wanted to fucking move out of here because it all seemed like a twisted, fucked up puzzle or an Escher painting that went wrong so what I do in those moments is just move the furniture. It sorts of changes your perspective and keeps the energy flowing.”

“Like Feng Shui?”

“What? Oh, yeah, right. But, y’know, just move ‘em. You're gonna feel like your house is different and more ‘yours’”

“That could work, yeah.” Frank stood up and started to walk around the patio. He had so much energy suddenly. He wanted to run, to dance, and to Feng Shuing his whole house. He felt so powerful for the first time in a year, he actually felt something for the first time in the entire day. He almost could forget about Jamia leaving today. He felt like going door by door to say hi to every neighbor he didn’t give the chance to know better but they probably won’t have any weed, like Gerard. Gerard was cool but that shit wasn’t indica. It most definitely wasn’t indica. 

“Do you want more?” Gerard said when lighting the blunt again.

“No, I just. I just had this idea, I just need to do this. Anyway, thank you. I appreciate it a lot.”

“But--”

Before Gerard could finish his sentence, Frank stormed out of the house. His face was warm and funny and his ears buzzing, feeling this weird rush. Like he could and he would change his whole world if he wanted, but what if he wanted? And what if he didn’t want to? What if--

“Aight”

He started with the living room. The couch was too heavy for him to just move it around easily but that didn’t stop him from pushing it a few meters close to the wall. Then, he went with for the coffee table, then the TV rack, the bookshelves. And when he was done with the living room, he went for the kitchen. Then his bedroom. His bathroom and finally his studio. 

When he was done, he was so tired he just threw himself on the bed, not bothering to put on some pajamas. He just removed his pants and closed his eyes. His ears weren’t buzzing anymore and he didn’t feel like he was about to sell all of his shit, run from his place to start a new life far away from Jersey. He wanted to stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a gift for my beta (reader), my husband, my prompt consumer, my personal cheerleader, my platonic friend, my enemy, my crush, my [redacted]head, my coworker, my hairdresser, my walking partner, and of course: the person responsible for making me post this here right now, muahaha. 
> 
> Your talent, work discipline and constant overflow of amazing ideas are such an inspiration. Thank you for constantly reminding me that ideas are meant to be shared and that creating (and maybe everything?) is even better when we work together. 
> 
> And I know I say this all the time but I can't wait for us to be together again and go out (in a musical sense) so you can nag me (in person this time) to write more, to get drunk, have deep & serious discussions about certain topics and tropes, share poptarts, and to come up with new ideas and stories. I love you and every day I feel so lucky to be able to keep growing and tending this beautiful friendship we have.


	2. Perspective

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this chapter like MONTHS ago and finally got my shit together and fixed the stuff that was bothering me.  
> i owe the readability of this thing to my beautiful husband and beta (husbeta?) kitoko. thank you for bearing with my typos, grammar and last minute insecurities ;; 
> 
> will i be thanking them in every note until they get tired of me? yes <3 
> 
> ps: i hope you enjoy the extra Indulgent Content i threw for u, mwah

Gerard didn’t consider himself a man of routine. Not because he hated structure, but because he felt like he didn’t need it. Every day was pretty much the same: waking up at 8 o’clock (8:30 if he was feeling lazy), making coffee in that fancy, over-complicated machine Mikey gifted him. Then, do a short meditation session before getting ready to paint for 8 hours straight. When his day was over, he unwinded by getting high and watching the birds and squirrels in his patio. He liked that. It was a routine. It was _his_ routine. And even though some of his days were repetitive, he made sure his schedule was loose enough to allow himself to do random shit in the middle of the week. Like spending a whole day browsing crystal dice sets on Etsy or making spontaneous trips to his favorite bookshop looking for new graphic novels, just for the sake of changing things once in a while. 

After getting stoned, his daily meditation was one of his favorite activities. It started as a way to have a little headspace and enjoy the silence of his home while drinking coffee. But then it developed into spying on his neighbors' morning routines. He felt like a creep but there was something soothing, almost therapeutic about watching them jog around, get into their cars and drive their kids to school that felt so domestic, so safe to watch from afar. That morning though, he found out something quite unexpected when his eyes landed on Frank’s side instead of looking at Julia’s front porch. From this new point of view, Gerard was able to see his neighbor’s desk and a corner of his mixing table. Gerard grinned sort of proud when he realized that Frank took his advice about moving the furniture. However, his smile vanished when the chair moved and Frank sat down. He could see him working. More specifically, he could see his hands typing on his computer and part of his face in a frowned, almost sad expression.

Gerard remembered how bold he was when Frank came to visit for the first time. And how glad he was for being stoned already so he was able to ask directly about the whole divorce thing. He seemed hurt and lonely. And that assumption came from a _very_ lonely man. Gerard knew his kind. And he also knew that people fresh off a breakup (or, worst, a divorce) were trouble, but he was only a man. He needed some eye candy to keep himself entertained and to be quite honest, he really enjoyed Frank’s chatty company. He could get used to having a friend. A friend who happened to be fucking hot. 

From his window, Gerard was able to see Frank without making him aware of his presence. To blatantly spy on him. He was exposed, but not too exposed and that realization made him sigh loudly, thinking about the power he held at that moment. It was the perfect balance between being curious and being a straight-up pervert. It was pleasure disguised as an observational exercise. And it was hot. He was enjoying that sweet spot until Frank stretched in his chair, letting Gerard catch a glimpse of a whole new set of tattoos that he wasn’t ready to see. A scorpion, two sparrows, some letters in his stomach and what seemed to be barbed wire. Right next to it: the elastic of his briefs, and some pubic hair peeking out, like saying hello to Gerard. And then it was over for him. He needed to jerk off. 

He put his coffee on the nightstand and palmed his crotch over his clothes to work himself. Despite knowing that libido changed through the years, he still got surprised when he found not a semi, but a rock-hard boner. Gerard couldn’t remember the last time he did something with his own hand but the feeling was so urgent it made him feel like he didn’t have time to either remove his pants or prepare one of the fancy toys he used regularly. Instead, he squeezed the base of his cock firmly, preparing himself for what was going to happen. Wait… was he about to get himself off by watching his neighbor (and aspiring friend) work? 

But then, Frank played with his hair twirling it in such an unconsciously playful manner it made Gerard lose his mind, letting escape a groan as he gave his dick a last squeeze, feeling the precum leaking already. Yes, he was _so_ doing this. 

“Shit.” 

Frank was straight-up just frowning and minding his own stuff, giving Gerard enough time to go for lube if he wanted but instead, he kept his piercing stare on Frank, analyzing his expression and the way his mouth hung open when he was focused. 

When the friction was too much to handle Gerard licked his palm. His own taste lingering in his mouth reminded him of when he was younger and used only spit and his own precum to get off. He felt like a fool for a brief moment since now he had numerous bottles of pricey lube in his possession, in a reach of a hand. But this was different. This was a burning urgency that Gerard hadn’t felt in a really long fucking time. And it was _good_. It felt nice to have a crush on someone with whom he actually had a conversation and not some of his graphic novel idols who were obviously too successful and too handsome to even look at Gerard. This was different. Frank was real and he was just there, leaning in his chair, biting his own finger like he didn’t know how sexy he was. Like he didn’t have a clue on how hard he made Gerard when he was getting all angsty telling his story about being divorced. Like he was incapable of knowing how guilty he made Gerard feel for focusing on the wrinkles in his eyes when he smiled or the tone of his voice, instead of listening to him. Oh god, he was such a bad friend, right? A really bad _aspiring_ friend. 

Feeling guilty about being horny was the cherry on top of this whole experience but Gerard couldn’t help it. The guy was hot even when he was sad and he wasn’t aware of that. Gerard wasn’t sure if that was something positive because on one hand, if he was aware, he would be taking his chances to fuck somebody. Maybe Gerard. Or maybe not, which was the most realistic outcome. On the other hand, if he wasn’t aware, he was less likely to suspect that Gerard was getting horny by listening to his whining.

When Frank moved to reach something on his desk, Gerard swore he felt his heart stopping for four solid seconds. Maybe five. It could take Frank just one second to look up and catch Gerard. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to see him gripping his cock but he would see his face. And his face was blushed enough to be a dead giveaway. Gerard thought about stopping at that moment, but when he realized Frank was still clueless it only made him thrust his hand harder, groaning and feeling embarrassingly ready to burst. Fuck. Why the fuck was he so on the edge for a man working at his desk? To keep himself from coming too quickly, he tried to get distracted by thinking that being single all these years turned him into a touch-starved pervert. Just like when he was 19. But instead of being in his mother’s basement, he was in his own house. Glow up? 

Still, Gerard brushed off all of those thoughts because in a way, both ended up getting something in return. Frank got a (sometimes) active listener because he clearly needed it, and Gerard got some new material to jerk off even in the days where he felt his sex toys and vivid imagination weren’t hitting the spot. A favor for a favor. 

Then, Frank leaned back fucking again, and this time he stayed longer, letting Gerard latch onto the partially covered barbed wire tattoo, making him think about how badly he wanted to put his finger on the elastic of his briefs to pull it down. God, he was so close he let himself keep lurking on the rest of the tattoos, wanting to memorize them for later, until he read what Frank had written in his stomach. 

“And?”

Yeah, and? And what? Was that the middle of a sentence, maybe a manifesto? Ugh, Gerard’s imagination was about to give up because he couldn’t think about the perfect combination of words. He wanted to see them. To read it. Gerard thought about removing Frank’s shirt and make him turn over and then kneel for him, just to read the rest of the phrase really closely, maybe too close to his ass. Another question came to his mind, what was Frank’s posture about getting his ass eaten? Was he the kind of guy who enjoyed having a feast or was he the feast? Or maybe… not a single mouth had been near that area, making him curious about how it would feel?

“Fuckfuckfuck.”

That last thought, the right amount of pressure and the constant feeling that he could get busted were enough to make Gerard spill in his hand; his fingers sticky, his mind guilty. When he finally caught his breath, he stared at Frank again. He was holding a pencil with his mouth, making an adorable pout. Gerard took off his ruined pants to put them in the romper and wandered around half-naked and still dizzy. He wanted to hang around his window a little bit longer but he had to work. Plus, he needed to figure out how to casually slide the rimming topic in his next conversation. 

It was going to be a very long day. 

***

Frank’s days became sort of repetitive and not in a good way. All he was doing was: waking up late, filling himself with pastries, working until his back was killing him and then eating leftovers of whatever he ordered last night. The routine had always helped him escape from his own demons but now it seemed more of a problem than a solution. Everything was looking gray y and he started to see the patterns Gerard had mentioned. On top of that, his dick, the organ formerly known as ‘The Universe’ was now a limp, useless thing. So he wondered: was this a good time to browse on Tinder? Or should he simply throw himself in the trash?

He felt so out of place. 

It was that weird gap. He felt too young to go on a cruise to meet his elderly soulmate but at the same time, he felt too old to be a racy bachelor who had booty calls almost every day. 

After reflecting on those thoughts for hours, Frank decided to actively put an end to his own obsessive self-inflicted misery and do something. Maybe downloading the app was a good start because, yeah, he was a single man now and he didn’t have more excuses to not give it a try. And he needed to try it. Hard. Really give his best. So he spent three hours crafting the perfect profile. 

After hours of browsing his own pics, he managed to pick three different photos. One in his studio, playing his guitar with his headphones on. Very casual and artsy. He looked like he was lost in his own thing. God bless the photo timers. The second one was a photo Jamia took when they went to a music festival in Chicago. Sunglasses on, beer in his hand and a big smile on his face after seeing The Bouncing Souls live. And the last one was a selfie he took in a weird mirror in some carnival. With those photos, he thought he showed _range_. The perfect mix between ‘hey, I’m interesting’, ‘hey, I’m hot’, and ‘hey, I have a sense of humor’. He also thought he was a total genius because all of those photos were appealing enough to be a conversation starter. 

But of course, he didn’t have the opportunity to explain any of the stories behind them because all the conversations he had in a whole day worth of swiping right were bland. 

His friends were right, though. The number of people looking for a quick dick fix was astonishingly high, although what surprised Frank the most was the even higher number of people unable to maintain an interesting conversation. 

And since his whole day was completely ruined by his own induced anxiety, Frank decided to stop working and try a different approach on his profile by making a few changes in the way he presented himself.

Three different bios. The first one consisting of six emojis: a fire, a black heart, a guitar, a scorpion, and another black heart and fire. Ah yes, the millennial way of communication. 

The second: “Sound mixer. Dog lover. Pasta eater.” Simple. True. Maybe funny?

And the third one: “does anyone read these? in case you do: i got divorced recently. i want to fuck or talk. preferably both. if you know me, please ignore this.'' Brutally honest. But maybe too much for his own good. 

But none of his perfectly crafted creations changed his luck.

When his self-esteem asked for a break, he called it a day and went to his bed. He tried to watch a show to forget about his shitty day but it was weird to not have someone to comment it with. And yet again, he felt the isolation. 

***

Gerard was sore from standing for so many hours. He had to finish this huge commission and he wasn’t prepared for it. Even though he always managed to stay sharp on his deadlines, sometimes he betrayed himself in a way or another. This week he got hooked up by a new sci-fi book he just bought and dedicated a big chunk of his week to read it all, leaving him only 5 days to finish a commission that normally took one week and a half. Obviously, he nailed it even with the tight deadline but he was exhausted enough to promise himself never doing it again.

He went to his living room and sat on his green sofa, unable to decide on what to order for dinner. He lied down and closed his eyes for a second. He was so relaxed now, his whole body feeling soft, heavy, and warm. Gerard wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that until he had a sudden realization.

Pad thai. 

He had just started browsing different restaurants on Postmates when the bell rang. He didn’t have to check the peephole to know exactly who that was. 

“Hey!” 

Frank was smiling like the first day he appeared at his front door. He was holding the same offering as the last time: beers and spicy honey chips. It was like a déjà vu. The only difference being that he was wearing a red hoodie and Gerard wasn’t stoned. Which made him nervous. And to be completely honest, Gerard was still shocked that Frank wanted to hang out that much so soon. Apparently dropping out of nowhere was going to be sort of a routine between them. 

He knew that Frank needed some extra company. He increasingly became more chatty every morning when he went to pick up his mail or water the lawn, latching onto Gerard, asking him about his tips to keep his monstera deliciosa happy. And Gerard liked that. Frank also read comics and was interested in Gerard’s work, both topics that Gerard could talk about for a whole day, no problem. Yes, give the tertiary character some love. 

“Do you like pad thai?” 

“Anything vegetarian works for me.”

Of course he was a fucking vegetarian. 

Like that first day, Gerard invited Frank into the patio to chat and, of course, get stoned out of their gourds until the food arrived. 

***

After eating and smoking some more, Frank asked Gerard a ton of extremely specific questions about the comics industry and of course, the gossip around that. Even though it wasn’t as thrilling as the neighborhood gossip, Frank seemed super invested in whatever Gerard had to say. After a pause, Gerard leaned in his deck chair and stared at Frank until he unpeeled his eyes from the small fountain Gerard had to attract birds. Then, they both locked their eyes on each other. 

“What?” Frank asked but Gerard kept the stare, making him chuckle. “Oh man, did I ask too many questions? I’m sorry, I can’t help it!”

“No, no, it’s actually fun to talk about my work. It felt like an interview.” 

“An interview? Dude, I didn’t realize I was being so lame.” He let out an awkward laugh and stared back at Gerard, like he was waiting for him to reply. 

Gerard didn’t know what to do so he just gave him a crooked smile. Oh shit, was that an awkward silence crawling, coming around the corner? Gerard still didn’t know Frank well enough to not feel like he needed to be constantly filling up the silences, avoiding Frank to discover he was far from being the interesting artist he thought. He didn’t want to bore him to the point he stopped visiting him, depriving him of his beautiful face, his tattooed hands and perky butt.

Fortunately, Frank opened his mouth again, preventing Gerard to keep fixating on what would be the proper topic to talk about. “You can ask me whatever you want now.”

“Oh” Gerard sat straight. He tucked his hair behind his ear kinda nervous, kinda not. He was trying to think of a witty question to make. Not a sexual one, no. Not _yet_. He needed to stay calm. He needed to play his cards right. This was his chance to get more material for his fantasies. And to get to know Frank better, of course. “Um, do you, um” but apparently Gerard’s brain didn’t want to collaborate so he had to improvise in the most boring way. “What about a summary about your life? You know, for starters?” He was 100% sure he saw this technique in some sitcom. 

“Uhm, okay? So, I went to catholic school and it fucked me up enough to go full punk in high school. I was in a band for a few years, until I realized I was stepping on my 30s and I had to stop asking Jamia to pay my bills. I got into sound mixing and it went really good so I stuck with it. And that’s all I guess.”

“So you two married pretty young.”

“Yup. I wouldn’t say I don’t recommend it. It was pretty great at first, but then we were just… friends. Like we… You know?”

Gerard tried to keep himself present in the conversation but that last phrase was a complete boner killer. He pictured Frank like some sort of secretly kinky, overly sexual man but apparently, all the years got him stale and boring, like everybody who lived in this damned neighborhood. The incongruence between his headcanon and his thirst for drama made Gerard unable to believe this was one of the reasons things ended with Jamia. Where the fuck was the plot twist? Maybe he was hiding something? A secret affair? A monthly subscription to an amateur porn site? A kinky Instagram side account? An obsession with getting pegged? Ok, that was hot. But, fuck, there had to be something. And, by that point of the night, Gerard was feeling both bold and stoned enough to go with his own agenda and get that precious information. 

“What about you? What’s your ‘summary’?” Frank interrupted his train of thoughts, once again. 

“I thought it was my turn to make the questions.”

Frank brought his finger to his own mouth, trying to shush Gerard but, instead, he snickered. 

“Alright. Let’s see. I was the nerd guy. The nerdiest loser you could’ve ever imagined in high school. D&D, comics, theatre, all that. A walking cliché. I ended up going to Art School and somehow made it into this weird career. I never got married, but I had three long-term relationships. My last boyfriend wanted to move to New Zealand and I didn’t, so we split and then I worked my ass off to buy this house.”

“That sounds... sad.”

“Thank you, very nice. I’m living the dream.” Gerard chuckled and lighted up the joint again. “So, um.” Gerard opened his mouth again but then stopped himself. Was this the right time to be bold? 

“C’mon, I saw you. Shoot it.”

Gerard knew exactly what he wanted to ask but he was insecure. Not about himself, he knew he was zooted enough to not give a shit, he just didn’t know how Frank was going to take it. 

“Are you into guys?”

Instead of lowering his gaze and acting all shy, Gerard didn’t break eye contact. He stayed there. Impertinent, dumb but brave, with a smirk on his face. The horny hero the people deserved. And it was so worth it. He enjoyed seeing the subtle twitch Frank’s mouth made, and the brief moment his right eyebrow raised. 

“I can’t say I don’t have experience.”

There it was. Gerard knew, deep down in his heart, that there was something inside Frank that needed to be woken up again. Deep inside that suburban man façade, Frank was still that punk guy who messed around with men, loved to tease around and had an invigorating sex life at some point in his life. And, yeah, his vague response could also mean that he was trying to be mysterious for the sake of trying to look cool but, deep down, Gerard could see that Frank was revealing something about himself. Something about himself he hadn’t been in touch with for a _long_ time. 

That made Gerard’s heart race up. But he wanted to keep himself humble. He knew he didn’t stand a chance with Frank unless he was very into wizard-looking middle-aged men somehow. Right, they both liked comics, had a similar sense of humor and liked the same music, but he wasn’t a teenager anymore. Plus, he really didn’t know Frank and, oh, there was the big issue: he just got divorced. Frank was an angry, sad, miserably hot divorcé. That could never work out. But, you know, if Frank wanted to release some stress, Gerard wouldn’t mind offering his ass for him to pound for hours on end. You know, fuck the stress away. Anyway, it felt nice to have something to cling on, just the right amount of futile hope to feed the self-indulgent scenarios he made up to jerk off.

“Why are you asking?”

“Just curious.”

“Are you trying to hit on me, uh?” 

Gerard felt his face turning red. Maybe he was a fucking teenager. But in his defense, he didn’t expect a snappy reply from Frank. And to make things even worse: the fucker was smirking back at him. Holy fuck, was this his chance to seduce his desperate neighbor and turn everything into a cliché porn-like scenario? 

Yeah, maybe it was. Go off, horny hero. “And what if I was?” 

But Frank leaned back and chuckled, flustered. What? Gerard was so confused. Was he making a joke? 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. I just--” Frank said with a dorky, embarrassed smile. “I haven’t done this in a long time. I feel so out of my element when I try to flirt.”

“Oh, okay.” Gerard sighed, trying to get his confidence back. Maybe Frank was being sincere and he wasn’t hitting on him just for some quick laughs. 

“I mean, just to give you an example. I got a notification saying that I spent like 6 hours total on Tinder this past week. Do you have an idea of how many of those conversations led to fucking?” Dramatic pause because the screenwriter loves them. “Zero!” 

As Frank was telling his story, he got closer, moving his hands like a madman, giving his best expressions to really tell the story. Gerard had to admit, the dude was funny when he was hurt.

And when Gerard realized that Frank was going through a rough phase of social awkwardness, he relaxed. Okay, he wasn’t a complete douche. It was still safe for Gerard to keep hanging on to his fantasies. “C’mon, it cannot be that bad.” He finally said.

“Oh, it was. Women and men, all boring, all so… dull. Lots of beautiful, fuckeable people but really, what the fuck? No brains!” Frank scoffed and looked at Gerard like he was waiting for an ‘agree’ or ‘that sucks’ from his part. But Gerard just laughed. “Ugh, you must have the worst fucking impression of me. The first day I’m whining about my wife and now I’m whining about people being superficial and stuff. I’m so fucking insufferable.”

“You are not insufferable…” Gerard said. He wasn’t 100% convinced but Frank raised his eyebrows at him. Like he could see Gerard was holding something to say. “Ok, maybe you are a little bit pretentious but that’s all.” 

“Fuck you.” Frank chuckled. 

“All I gotta say is that if you are waiting for a quick lay then don’t expect to have life-changing conversations, you know? I don’t mean they aren’t compatible but fuck, the probabilities are really low.”

“I know. And... I’m not looking for my soulmate. I just want to feel alive again. To meet someone that makes the butterflies in my stomach flutter so hard that they wake up my dick, you know?”

Gerard wanted to reply “Yes, I _know_ ”. But he let Frank keep talking. 

“I wanna fuck and then have a talk and that’s all. Is it always this complicated for bachelors? How do you do it?” 

“I don’t.”

“But how do you-- You know. ”

“Are you serious?” It seemed like Frank was being serious. “I can’t believe I need to explain this to you but, okay, there’s this revolutionary thing called fleshlights and--”

“Fuck no. I know that. I mean, how do you do it with, uhm, intimacy?”

“Intimacy?”

“Yes, intimacy. Because, uh, to stick your dick into that fleshy fucking canister you need to, I don’t know, fucking warm it first, and--” Frank wandered around with his words like he was trying to make a point out of something he had never put that much thought in before. “Whatever, that isn’t the point. The thing is that it isn't the same as sticking it into a whole person with whom you can, you know, speak. Cuddle. Connect. All that shit.”

“Right. Sticking it. That’s what intimacy is about.” Gerard did a crooked smile that made Frank frown but before he could complain, Gerard raised his finger as he was trying to stop him before making a point. “I see where you are going, but… It isn’t easy for me either. Do I have to be more obvious?” And yet again, it seemed like Frank was lost. “C’mon, look how big this house is and how alone I am.” 

Frank was about to say something again but instead, he kept his mouth half-open, almost in a pout. Gerard panicked for a second: Frank was getting sad again. 

“--And sometimes it gets really, really, really tiring to get what you are looking for. At my age men tend to settle for one position and it’s boring.” So, what was the best way to salvage a sad conversation or a boring scene? Sex. The hornier, the merrier. 

However, Frank stayed silent. Gerard could sense his silence wasn’t because he was sad and contemplative but for another reason he couldn't pinpoint. Frank was thinking about _something_. 

“You know this, right? The bottom and the top and all that?”

“Oh yeah, right.”

“Okay so, I tend to lean to one position but I’m always willing to try new stuff. The problem is that some people aren’t into that.” Gerard checked on Frank again but he was just straight-up staring at him, making him doubt if he was trying really hard to concentrate or if he was just too high to even be present in the conversation. So Gerard kept his babbling going. Fuck, since when did he had this many lines? “And sometimes stuff happens and you can’t come to terms. It also happens that some people are really lazy, you know? Look, if a man is looking to fuck me in doggy style just to cum in me like 15 minutes later without even doing an effort to eat my ass then I prefer to take care of that stuff myself.”

Another dramatic pause. 

“Y-yeah.” Frank said. 

Gerard looked at Frank. He seemed spaced out. Like he was trying to retain, really _grasp_ the info Gerard just gave to him without a TMI alert, and he was failing. Miserably. Gerard did a smirk and kept his eyes on Frank until he noticed his stare. 

“No, I totally get it.”

“What I’m trying to say is: intimacy is fucking ideal, yeah. But it isn’t easy to get so don’t rush.”

Frank let out a muffled ‘uh’ as he snuggled in the chair. He looked so adorable that Gerard raised his hand to stroke Frank’s hair but he ended patting his shoulder. Maybe in another time. 

“Hey, so, um, I really need to sleep.”

“Oh right, your big commission. You must be exhausted.”

“Yup.”

Gerard said goodbye from his door and the minute he closed it, he pressed his back in it and stuck his hand into his pants. Briefs all damp and hot. He wanted to pat himself on the back for making it for so long without throwing himself at Frank, ass first, begging him to touch him. 

He closed his eyes, trying to sum up point by point everything that just happened. Frank’s lost gaze. His bare arms when he took off his hoodie. The way his hair curled at the nape of his neck. How he licked his lips after eating and the way he moved his hands when he rambled. Fuck, his hands. Gerard felt his whole body tensing. What the fuck was happening? Was this more than a dumb crush? Was this love? Was he under a fucking spell? Was he in heat? Love spores? Was that even possible? Wait, did the series swap genres in his own show and he didn’t know? But he didn’t have an answer. All he knew was that he couldn't remember the last time he felt so attracted to someone. Frank piercing stare made his legs quivery and his crotch get ready to fucking burst at any minute. God, all he needed was a crumble of attention. And maybe a night to have his way with him to inspect all the tattoos he hid under his shirt, to make him fluster after by accidentally finding out what kind of things turned him on. And to hear the ways that he would make Frank scream his name. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i do love being meta


End file.
